“As cute as that can be, must have a great profile too for all to see“ Gun Roswell
A cats profile
A quite cute and totally sassy cat On the tallest of tables, silently sat Like some kind, of a cherished statue From our very own past at that The historical kind of an artefact
But no matter, how much of a purfect The fur, the face, and the actual stance Surely, it was that one very simple fact That the cute profile, even from a glance Was surely, that of a goddess, to last
Alas, the quite cute, sassy cat, who sat Did, not really, much care, of all of that But, just wanting to be, so worshiped Like some pretty flower, that of a tulip And with that kind of a totally great profile Who would, not want to do that, and smile
“It is, a different kind of fun, hanging there, under, the bright sun, but then again, I don’t like to run” Gun Roswell
Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep
The warm winds, gently, heaved, above me, in the tall palm tree leaves As I laid under there, in the dark shadows, looking up, only to see The sunshine, now curiously peeking, as if for something, it had to seek Or then it was just me, being, once again, that one special kind of a geek As I was conjuring up, all kinds of scenarios, where the very sun, was a being From another world, with an agenda, and some sort of a ransom, and then chasing All us, lowly humans, here, on the planet Earth and because of just that, making Us, to go to permanent hiding, from those ever vigilant and ever searching Rays so brightly lit, it was becoming more and more difficult, in the shadows to fit But, for me, the gentle, caring and soft cover, of the tall and ever green Palm of a tree, provided all the cool shelter, I could possibly ever need
“The tall shadows of a low hanging sun in the winter time look gorgeous, but scary too” Gun Roswell
Tall shadows of winter
First snow fell, heavily onto big piles, all over, the grey ground Not one single spot of dirt, or other matter, was there, to be found And as the sun started shining, on one slow afternoon leaving Tall shadows across the snow in its wake, making shiny sparkles Like tiny little diamonds, so gorgeous, that all those of us looking At them, could for a fading moment enjoy the captivating spell Of this one and bright winters day, after the long and cruel darkness Broken if only for a tiny fraction of time, and then feeling fine Almost divine, until it was once again, completely, and totally dark But even after the bright sun was gone, remaining only, was That one and hopeful spark, that one day soon, after the moon Had gone to sleep, the sun would come back, and then maybe, stay Forever, and then all of us dwellers could spend all of their days Counting the newly formed, and various kind of shapely shadows Sometimes tall, more often times short, but the hope of the light No matter if it was shining bright, was in their own hearts, forever
“I am always leaving fast, with the dust in my tracks” Gun Roswell
With dust in my tracks
When I do leave, a place, any single place I usually, like to leave, my own mark as well Be that something permanent, carved on stone Or, just simple specs of dust, in the air thrown So, today, when the sun was finally shining And the wide open roads me gently beckoned I jumped into my trusted four wheeled steed And pushed the pedal to the metal for the speed The dry and sandy path ahead, to an idea lead To leave a sign of my being here, on this sphere As I drove down the lane, like a person, insane The only thing to be seen, as I left the slate clean Was the thick and ever climbing, spectacular sighting Of a cloud filled with small grains, forming the dust Leaving it hanging in the air, until the day fell to rust
“It’s big, it’s red, it’s a monster of a machine!” Gun Roswell
A monster of a tractor
It may just be, the one and the only, technological epitome, of equipment for tiny me The mighty and really large vehicle, a tractor, all over painted, with the shiniest of reds And this, pretty red one, was going to be the one, driving little old me, all day, around In the fields open and quite wide, and with this kid, of vessel, it would be difficult to hide As the mere size of it, was a sight, but, also causing the narrow roads to totally shift As trying hard, to navigate and avoid, if possible, hitting each and every hidden ditch But soon enough, getting the hang of the mighty truck, and as it would be my best luck I managed, to hang on and ride all the way, without too much of uncomfortable dismay And finally reaching the fields of plenty, to start with my task of harvesting, well, gently Because this was the one kind of a tractor, that would rise to the occasion, out factored The cost of the gasoline and other kinds of upkeep, but hey, as it was doing the job so neat Then what is a small amount of expenses, when the harvest, was done in a less than a week!
“There is nothing like life on a farm, expect maybe, a life on a paradise island” Gun Roswell
A farmers life for me?
The skies, are totally clear and blue, and the harvest ready, for a very good use The big ass tractor, waiting, in the yard, ready, willing and able, for me to take charge Hopping on it cheerfully, as I am, always and now dutifully, all the fine fruitful crops Going to pick up, as, with my trusted steed, I will ride, into the wide, open field Making my own way, and of course, the hay slay, as I am that one farmer chick Who will this hard and often said, manly job lick, with a flick, of my very own wrist I don’t care, if other people there, just stand and oddly stare, while I am proudly riding My tractor quite big, doing my chores in a eyes wink, and then all of them charming With my outgoing and smiling personality, as I am turning out, to be quite the celebrity Of this small and secluded village, where mostly farmers earn their living off of the land And, now, so do I, as I am getting high, of this life, of being a farmer, so very nice
“Trying to reach the top, might seem like an effort, but the reward awaiting there, no time to spare but to keep on going without a stop!“ Gun Roswell
High up on the Mountain Top
The top seemed, totally and utterly unreachable As I was standing there, below, fearing, the inevitable The climb, seemed so long, and time, was running out Because I should have already been there, to shout
“I am on the top of the world! See me twirl! Yes, I am that gurrrl, who got here in a wind of whirl!”
Alas, the previous efforts to haul myself up there and stay Had been, hm, shall we say, unsuccessful, in the best of ways I had tried, really hard, well, at least, some of the times But in honest truth, and I cannot deny, that procrastination was high And getting ever so high up there, close enough, to the stratosphere Had somehow always fallen into a very low priority, on any of the lists I had oh so carefully drafted for me, with tasks far from being a jest
So, the days went by, and despite of the promise to fly ever so high The time was never, ever on my side, at least, that was what I told myself (yes, a lie) But, finally, here I stand, with a rope thick, in my very own hands I host Trying to make up for all the time so completely wasted and now, also lost When figuring out all the excuses for not climbing towards the very top Gazing, glaring, staring, at the scary looking, feet shaking, hand breaking Yes, yes, I know, I know, that I am so many and too many excuses making So, here I go, towards the reward, one, step, two step, at the time…
“Hey! Guess I will be fine, after all! This mountain, doesn’t seem to be that tall!”
“The black cat, helping a striped cat, well now, that is true team work!” Gun Roswell
Help me up, wont you (Caturday)
There was something very interesting definitely there, on the window sill As the two small size cats, kittens really, now on the floor, circled around, at will Trying to get up, with still growing but short legs still, was quite the feat tough And even trying to very hard to hop, hop, hop off of, the very flat ground It seemed impossible to get up there, where something great was to be found But neither of them succeeding, on their own, so what to do now, they frowned Then a thought, came to the others mind, maybe working together was fine Even if they both competed with each other for every single little thing in kind But this time, maybe it was enough, if one of them reached on the very top And then the other would know too, what it was so interesting up and out there Which was intruding their very own domain, and threatening, just of the same And then the smaller one pushed the bigger one, with a huff, on to the very ledge Urging him to seek, search and then, to destroy, what ever it was disturbing their day As the bigger cat got up, he turned back with a huff and a puff, as the only thing Was a small spider, weaving its web while singing, and now already out of reach For the small cat and his friend, whom, so eagerly had for big game tried to seek
“What a total bust!” The striped cat told the black cat, “Just a small spider, alas!”
“Yeah, all for nothing, that huffing and puffing!” The black cat told the striped cat. “But when we tell this story to the others, it was some kind of a big elephant or tiger, which we fought really hard against.” She then added.
“Agreed!” Said the striped cat, “And next time, I will let you be the one to go see.” He stated as the two of the strolled back to the litter, to tell a great story of two hunters, they were, slaying wild game without hesitance or even one flicker.
“Nothing like the cool and calming seas, in the early morning breeze“ Gun Roswell
Gone fishing or sailing, that is the question, right?
When that special kind of occasion sometimes happens to rise Which makes you totally want to jump up and down, holler and add a big smile You know what is going to happen once you hop on the bus Taking you out there, where, there is never, any kind of rush Where the open air and the calming of the blue seas, forever meet Just an open road ahead, without any kind of lanes on the streets The harbour soon visible, and all kinds of vessels are totally feasible To take a tour around the small side of the world, into it hurled With a small boat of fishing gear filled up to the hilt, no, it won’t tilt Or a large luxury type of thing, with sails and all that jazz kinda prim But what ever you choose, know that with that choice you will never lose As the most important thing of this day, is to relax and just sway In unison to those lulling and calming waves, in an uplifting way So, take a hike, out there, in the open where, no one will stare At the outfit, you simply overlooked, for this gig, was just that big Gone fishing, gone sailing, it’s all just in your own kind of mindset And if you have a spare day to spend, then maybe either sail to the worlds end Or then, make a small fishing trip out there today, and for a big haul prey Then the next day, you can take a load off, at that grand type of a yacht What ever the game plan, don’t just on the pier there aimlessly stand! But haul your butt to the nearest boat, and make yourself a good day out!
“It was inevitable, after all, certainly, this late in the fall, as it always, snows here, in the winter” Gun Roswell
First Snow, has landed
In the hours, of the very early morning, the window view, in front, gently opening To a perfect scenery, not really seen, not at least, since the last remnants, of wintery Feeling had disappeared, during the early months, at the start, of the new year
The first, of the winters snow, had finally, and, during the dark night, landed All over the previously grey and totally dull ground, its large wings spread grandly And into, a crisp, and ever so clean looking, fluffy white blanket, it softly covered
Watching now, from the warmth and comfortable cozy inside, it looked really nice But knowing full well, it would be, really cold and freezing, with some slippery ice Then, returning back to bed, and sleep past the day, seemed totally sound advice
Alas, the best option still to handle, the sudden, but not unexpected change in the weather Was quite simple and that of staying put, sitting down by the window, in a warm sweater Then, enjoy the gorgeous scenery, as courteously provided, in technicolor by Mother Nature
Rantings Of A Third Kind 